


Broken

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of a Battle, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: Killer doesn't handle the aftermath of a battle well.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Stick and Poke belong to Kristsune. Beta'd by Soleriane. Much love to both of you <3 Translations in the end notes.

Killer picks up the blaster from the slack hands of the brother who was already marching far away, brushing the fingers of his free hand over his chestplate in apology.  “ _ Vor entye, vod _ ,” he whispers, settling into the same defensive position as enemy reinforcements march down the hall toward him, metal clashing on metal as the droids draw closer.

He can hear the door being breached and he adjusts his grip on the blaster.  He realizes distantly that for the first time he can remember, his hands aren’t shaking on the blaster, but he doesn’t have time to marvel over that.  There are too many lives at stake, and he won’t let more harm come to a single man in his medbay.  

What happens next… Killer doesn’t really know.  He remembers bits and pieces, droids falling, the flashes of blasters, and the utter certainty that he will die before he lets a single droid inside the medbay.  Everything happens in slow motion and too fast all at once, and he doesn’t know how much time passes before more blasters join the battle - a familiar voice echoes over someone’s helmet speaker,  _ vode, thank the gods, oh fuck _ \- and he pulls the trigger once, twice, three times before the last droid falls.  

He has the presence of mind to click the safety on before the blaster slips from his hands.  He doesn’t let himself stop to think before throwing himself into treating the wounded, even when Kix, Stick, and Poke join him.  He can’t think about it, he can’t, he  _ can’t _ , so he doesn’t.  

“ _ Cyar’ika _ , have you seen Killer?”  

Poke’s brows furrow as he glances at his husband, thinking over the question.  “No, I haven’t, not since we finished with the wounded…” their eyes meet and he nods, “We need to find him.”  They both know how Killer gets at times, the panic attacks, the dissociative episodes…  They worry about him.

Half an hour of scouting out all his usual hiding places later, Poke’s voice crackles over the comm.  “ _ Bev’ika _ , I think you need to get down here,  _ now _ .  I found him, in the cargo hold.”  Stick starts running before his mind even catches up to what Poke said.  He knows that tone too well to believe their Killer is anywhere near okay, and his heart is already racing in his chest.  

He finds Poke crouched next to a cubbyhole that can’t possibly be big enough for a grown clone.  “Kil’ika,” he’s saying softly, “Look, Stick’s here too, you think you can help us?”  He looks up with worry filling his eyes as Stick crouches next to him.  “He's not answering me. He hasn't even looked at me since I found him.”  Going mute isn't unheard of for Killer, but completely unresponsive?  That's never a good sign.  

Killer isn't even trembling the way he does when he’s havinga panic attack.  Whatever this is, it's much worse than anything they've helped him through before.  That doesn't mean they won't  _ try _ , though.  Stick rubs the younger medic's shoulder gently.   “Hells, vod'ika,” he says quietly, “You did good earlier, just need you to do a little more, alright?  We're going to get you out of here, you okay with that?  You need to get cleaned up and out of your uniform, then you can rest.”  He keeps his voice as low and kind as he can, trying to reach their little brother.   

Poke looks like his heart is breaking on the spot and Stick sighs again.   His touch is gentle as he runs a hand down Killer’s back, trying to figure out the best way to ease him out of the corner he’s wedged himself into.  It’d be a lot easier if Killer could cooperate, but he still isn’t responding, and his skin is  _ icy _ under Stick’s hand.  “Cyare, help me lift him a little, I think we can get him out.”  He doesn’t want to drag Killer out by force if they don’t have to; not as traumatized as he is already.  

Between the two of them, they manage to slide him out of the cubbyhole, but Killer still doesn’t quite look at them - it’s like he’s looking  _ past _ them, his gaze unfocused and lost with only a few glances at them out of the corner of his eyes; Stick will take that over no reaction at all.   “Come on, vod’ika, come back to us,” Poke says softly as Stick lifts Killer into his arms.  

It feels like he barely weighs anything, and Stick cradles him a little closer, tucking his little brother’s head into the crook of his neck.  “It’s okay, there we are, I’ve got you.”  Poke stays close as they carry him to the ‘freshers to get him cleaned up and into something that isn’t a bloody uniform.  He’s not sure who the blood belongs to, but there’s enough of it’s that’s fresh to worry him.

Stick sits down with Killer, keeping him braced, though he’s pretty sure he’d be able to sit on his own.  He doesn’t want to break contact with him, not when he still looks so lost.  “We need to get these off you, alright?  Poke will have to cut them, but he’ll be careful, right love?”  He gives Poke a smile that would be reassuring if he could put any kind of confidence behind it.   

Poke gets to work, slowly, carefully cutting away the bloody white uniform, soaking the fabric with water where it sticks to his skin.  “Kriff,” he says, his voice going tight, “ _ Cyare _ .”   He looks up, and Stick’s heart skips a beat at the expression there, full of heartbreak.

Killer’s arm is bloody, and there’s a blaster burn there, but over his ribs - and Stick can  _ count _ his ribs - there are distinct, clean, even cuts.  “Oh,  _ vod’ika _ ,” Stick whispers, holding Killer closer.  They knew about his habit, about how he would try to bring himself out of these episodes - or to prevent them - with a blade, but he’s been doing so well…  

Stick runs his fingers through his little brother’s hair, keeping him tucked against his chest, as Poke starts to clean the wounds.  Killer barely even flinches, only a soft whimper escaping his lips.  “ _ Udesii _ , it’ll be over soon,” Stick assures him, “We’ve got you now, it’s alright.”  He’s  _ furious _ on Killer’s behalf, though there’s no real target for his rage, so it burns through him and he tries to ignore it, focusing on his brother instead.  

Killer barely responds as they get him dressed in warm, soft clothes - donated by concerned civilians, of course - and Stick lifts him again, careful of his bandaged arm and ribs.  They’re not far from their quarters, so he carries the younger medic to their bunk.  “If you want to stay with him, I’ll go get some water and something for him to eat later,” Poke murmurs, and Stick nods as he lays Killer out on the bed and climbs in next to him.  He wraps an arm around him, holding the younger clone against his chest as Poke pulls the blanket over them, trying to offer as much warmth as they can.  

Stick keeps murmuring reassurances, “You did so good, little brother, you kept them safe.  Those men, all of them, they’re alive because you’re the best damned medic you can be.  Just hold on, okay?  Hold on for us.”  He hopes desperately that at least a little of it will reach Killer, wherever he’s buried himself so deeply.

By the time Poke gets back, Killer is trembling, his eyes shut tight.  Every so often, soft whimpers break from his lips, unconscious noises that sound like a wounded animal and go right to Stick’s heart.  He rubs his little brother’s back, shushing him quietly as he tries to comfort him.  Poke sets the tray aside and slips into the bunk with both of them, Killer between them.  “He just started coming out of it,” Stick says, keeping his voice low, “He’s still cold.”  Poke rests his fingers over Killer’s pulse point, counting the beats.  From the grim set to his lips, Stick knows it isn’t good.  It usually takes a while for him to come back around after a panic attack like that, and longer for his heart rate to get back to normal, but shutting down like this is new, and they don’t know how he’s going to react.  

It takes hours; hours of laying curled around him, trying to offer what comfort and warmth they can as he trembles and slowly, so slowly, starts to respond to their whispered reassurances and Poke’s gentle hands massaging his hands and arms, trying to bring him around.  Finally, Killer blinks slowly and sits up a little.  His voice is hoarse and soft, but he manages to whisper, “You found me?”

“Of course we did, Kil’ika,” Poke says, sitting up with him, as Stick does the same - he rests a hand on Killer’s back too, steadying him when he sways a little, “We’ll always find you."

Killer sniffles softly and Stick sighs, pulling him into a hug.  “Come here, little brother, we’ve got you.”  He smiles in relief as Killer starts to cry into his shoulder, breaking apart enough that they can help him put his pieces back together.  Poke joins in the hug, both of them wrapping him up safely between them, where nothing will reach him again.  

“I don’t know what happened… I just remember-  I needed to make it stop, I couldn’t break like that, I’m not supposed to-  I just wanted to be okay, so I-”  Killer hesitates, glancing down at himself before looking between them with wide, horrified eyes.  “You saw?”

“Yeah, we saw.  Killer, it’s alright, it’s okay.  Focus on me,” Poke says gently, turning him to cup his brother’s cheeks in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes, “Just focus on me, it’s okay.”  He waits for Killer's breathing to even out again, his own breaths slow and even to let him match them.   “You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to, okay?   It's alright.”  

Killer nods.  “Okay, okay.  I wanted to find you, but I couldn't-  I just needed to get  _ away _ and so I hid, I didn't know what was happening, I just… I heard you,” he whispers, “Thank you.  I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't looked for me… probably stayed there till next time somebody annoyed Captain Rex enough to get assigned cleaning duties.”  His laugh is shaky and weak, but it’s there, and that’s reassuring.  

“Hey now, what'd Poke say?  We'll always look for you.  You're our little brother, aren't you?  We look after brothers.”  Stick ruffles his hair, smiling down at him as Killer buries his face in his chest. 

“Thank you.”

It's not  _ perfect _ , but it's a start.  Stick will take it.  “Anytime, vod'ika.  Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Vor entye, vod - thank you, brother  
> Vod'ika - little brother  
> Udesii - easy, relax


End file.
